Hear Me Roar

When we were young and all living at home there would often be shouting matches. Our mother was affronted at us and would say,

They'll hear you at the line!

The 'line' was the road between Antrim and Ballymena but it wasn't passing motorists she was thinking about, it was all the relatives that lived at the public house on the line that she was worried about. For some reason, she did not want Granny, Aunts Mary and Bernie and Uncles Shaun and Kevin to know that she was rearing a crowd of wild, unruly children. 

So yelling and shouting was a big no-no in our house as were the wearing of trousers by girls and/or female whistling. 

Every time you whistle, you make Our Lady cry.

Is it any wonder that I grew up loth to be anything other than gently spoken in public places? 

That has been changing recently and I'm feeling so much better about it.

It all started in Cambridge. I disembarked from the King's Lynn train with only a few minutes to spare to change for the airport train. But I misread the platform information and headed over the bridge to the other platforms. It wasn't easy as my case was very heavy, it being full of all the handmade baby clothes I'd been instructed to share with new and expected family members so I arrived on the other platform, slightly out of breath and, to reassure myself, enquired of a guard if I was on the correct platform and then he said,

The Stansted train is on platform 1, it's over the bridge, and it's just about to leave.

I turned on my heel, dragged the heavy case up the iron steps, over the bridge, down the other side. There was the train and the doors were closed. I pressed the button, doors opened. I didn't dare step inside in case it was the wrong train. Instead, I roared through the open door,

STANSTED?

And a young woman replied mildly.

Yes.

I jumped on. It was at least ten minutes before my heart rate returned to normal.

There was another roaring incident yesterday. Martha and I were sitting at a window seat in Middletown enjoying a coffee and cinnamon rolls and people watching when I leapt from my seat, ran out the door, picked up two tenners from the pavement and yelled at the young man carrying a baby who had just dropped the money from his pocket.

EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!

He stopped and I gave him the money. He thanked me. I'm sure he thought me slightly mad and I did not care. It was more about me than him. For I got to move fast, do a good deed and I got to ROAR. It felt so good.